Another Fast Weekend

The reds swept through a sluggish Bolton Wanderers side this past weekend which was reason enough for celebration. For the lads or lasses reading this who are unfamiliar with what I'm talking about exactly then find out for yourself. I'd bet some of you would catch the bug, as I have, and who knows, it might do you bloody well. Maybe one day well pass each other outside a fixture or maybe one day I'll stick my boot up your arse.

After the match my mates and I went to the pub to celebrate the victory. This pub, which I shall not reveal the name of, but instead will call Harry's for fuck sake, is where the boys meet before and after the games to grease their gears and loosen their bolts. After drinking enough to satisfy my Irish blood I headed out of Harry's to smoke my pipe and start my ponderous walk home. I'll have to call my home something else because it's no home to me. It hasn't been for as long as I can remember. I wonder if it really ever was or if I just wanted it to be? For fucks sake I sound like a wanker. Surprisingly my wife wasn't home when I arrived back. I assumed she was at her sisters with Peter Jr. gossiping about things that would most likely make me arrange my pub dinner on the floor in a mushy mess. Damn, that little bugger shouldn't be exposed to such non sense. Looks like I'll have to make a man out of him sooner than I thought. He's only four, but I bet the boys would like him. He can get dressed on his own and he can use the bathroom all by himself. That's more than I can say for some of my mates after a good nights drinking.